


Hardioran Syndrome

by sb_essebi



Series: Whouffaldi one-shots [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, like literally so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sb_essebi/pseuds/sb_essebi
Summary: Prompt by cclarasdoctor: Could you do a fluffy one where 12 gets sick and Clara looks after him for a while, then she catches it and the tables are turned?





	Hardioran Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cclarasdoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cclarasdoctor).



"You're so pale. Why are you pale?" Clara questioned, following the Doctor around the console. 

"Don't be silly, Clara, I'm not pale, there's nothing wrong with me," he answered, moving between controls.

"Oh yes, there is. Are you ill, Doctor?" He turned to face her.

"Don't be ridiculous! Time Lord, me, I wouldn't just" -he blinked, as if his eyes were blurred and he was trying to clear them- "just catch a cold."

She scanned him with the expert eyes of someone who had seen countless ill kids. He was paler than usual and his eyes were suspiciously bright. As they stared at each other, he sniffed, something he basically never did, and Clara didn't miss the light trembling of his hands.

"Doctor…will you come closer for a moment?" she asked with the softest of voices.

"W-what do you want?" he stepped back, circling the console, left hand on it, trying to preserve his precious personal space.

"There's something in your hair," she stated with the same silky voice, following him around the console. "Let me brush it off, will you?"

He nervously ran one hand through his grey curls, still walking away from his companion. "There's nothing." He retreated to the stairs, towards the upper gallery, always facing Clara, struggling to put more distance between them, but she was having none of it. "I should have kept that broom!" he muttered.

"Doctor, come on, I just want to check if you have fever, okay?"

"I'm not sick! Are  _you_  sick? I'm a Doctor, I should know-"

"We both know you are not that kind of Doctor."

Finally, she had him pinned against the back of his armchair, but when she stood on her tiptoes to touch his forehead she noticed his intense stare and the way she had her body completely pressed over his. For a minute, neither of them breathed as a strong blush crept on her cheeks and she stepped away from him. He took advantage of it to slip away, circling the armchair, but Clara rapidly regained her composure and blocked him, pushing him to sit down in his armchair.

" _You stay here,_ " she commanded.

"Control freak."

"Shut up!" Clara dove her hand in his jacket pocket –he jumped at the contact- and took his screwdriver, handing it to him. "Look, check it yourself, okay? I'm just-" she hesitated. "…worried about you, that's all."

He rolled his eyes, but his expression had softened. He set the sonic, and pointed it towards himself.

"See? Nothing to worry about." Only then he looked at the results, and his face didn't reassure Clara at all. "Oh. Right. I seem to be… a little… your fault of course, all that running around to check my temperature…"

"Doctor. Give me the screwdriver. At once."

"N-no," he babbled, sinking in the armchair and hiding the sonic behind him.

Clara wasted no time and pressed her palm flat on his forehead. He trembled under her touch and gasped.

"God, you're warm. _Really_ warm. You shouldn't be this warm," she murmured, alarmed. The Doctor had a lower body temperature compared to humans, and his skin usually felt so cool against hers.

"It's nothing…" he protested weakly.

"You have a fever! Now do me a favour and go to bed, okay?"

"No, I'll…I'll just take a nap here."

"Absolutely no, Doctor. Get up and off to bed, now."

"Can't."

"Of course you can-"

"No, Clara. I can't as I think I might…" his words trailed off as his head reclined on his shoulder.

"Doctor? Doctor!" Clara called.

She caressed his cheek and ran her hand though his soft hair. He was still very warm at the touch and his breath was shallow, his eyes were closed but his body wasn't relaxed, on the contrary, he was rigid and tensed, as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

He awoke in a matter of seconds, eyes popping open, and Clara swiftly withdrew her hand.

"What-"

"You passed out" she said, preventing his question.

"Ah."

He glanced away, his embarrassment evident.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked. He nodded slowly and she helped him to his feet. "Any idea what it is?"

"Hardioran Syndrome," he answered, "Not…life-threatening," he added quickly, "just highly… debilitating." Thankfully, the TARDIS moved his bedroom closer to the control room, so that Clara didn't have to support him for long. "I'll be unconscious most of the time, but you need to wake me and make me drink. Keep me warm…" he continued as Clara helped him to get rid of his jacket and shoes and tucked him into bed. "There's a small blue bottle in the TARDIS sickbay… third or fourth cupboard to the left, I think… give me two drops of that every… four hours."

"Okay. Doctor, are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, yes, don't be silly Clara. It will sort itself in 30 hours or so. _Oh_ , and, Clara, remember, this is very… important…"

Clara couldn't hear what was so important to remember, because the Doctor's eyes drifted close again and he lay motionless under the covers, head on his pillow.

"Oh, you silly Time Lord. This is what happens when you just don't admit you're not feeling well."

She stared at his sleeping form, kneeling near his bed and distractedly caressing his hair, something he'd never allow if awake, but she kept doing it, stroking the curls and pushing them flat against his skull. Clara liked the way his hair felt so soft beneath her fingertips, loving it a guilty way, knowing that he didn't like to be touched.

His breath was still very laboured, but it steadied and relaxed under her ministrations. She wondered if, deep down, after all, he liked it. A bit uncomfortable on the floor, even though a thick carpet covered it, Clara got up and glanced around at the room. She had never seen his bedroom before, and she had to admit he had the most elegant and sophisticated taste, just like in clothes. A leather armchair similar, if not identical, to the one in the control room was also there: Clara dragged it close to the bed to sit later, and left the room to fetch some water and the medicament he had described.

~oOo~ [hour 1]

"Come on, take some." Clara said, offering the Doctor a glass of water while helping him to sit.

He started to drink eagerly, then winced. "It's rubbish," he murmured, eyes dreamy. Clara could tell he was only barely conscious. "What did you put in it?"

"That blue stuff you told me to give you, you big child. Drink all, okay?"

"I'm not ten years old," he muttered groggily, and Clara made him drink, his hands being too shaky to hold the glass steadily.

"Oh, really? That's new," she giggled. He shot her a dirty look.

The girl put the glass back on the bedside table and let the Doctor sank under the sheets again. He moved to lay flat on his stomach, face buried in the pillow.

"Are you still awake?" Clara asked. A small grunt was all the answer she obtained. "You said I needed to remember something, something important."

"There are so-" he made a noise that sounded pretty much like snoring. "-many important things I'd want to tell you." His voice came low and muffled, and a second later he was _most definitely_ snoring soundly.

Clara sighed, rolling her eyes. It was a lost cause. She wondered what kind of 'many important things' he'd tell her, but she resolved that he wasn't in his right mind and probably he didn't mean what he’d said.

~oOo~ [hour 7]

"Clara… _Clara_ …"

Clara awoke with a start. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. Not willing to leave the Doctor alone when he could need her, and since she had to give him water and his medicine, she had decided to stay awake, but she had clearly failed.

"I'm- I'm here."

"Clara…" he whispered.

She realized he was just talking in his sleep, and smiled. Was he dreaming of her? She bit her lip, wondering what he would dream about her so intense to make him talk in his slumber. The book she had been reading to keep awake fell from her lap as she moved to lean over him, kissing his forehead. Apparently he still had high fever, she supposed it had to be the medicine still working its magic…then the thought hit her: she had just kissed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Two of her fingers went to her lips, finding them burning hot and sensitive; she licked them nervously, tasting the salty taste of his sweat. She shivered, trying not to think of how intimate that was.

"Clara." The Doctor's voice came again, sleepy and muffled against the pillow. "Please…no…don't go."

"I'm here, Doctor" she repeated.

He started to move relentlessly in bed, his hands tugging at the sheets and tossing it, searching for something. Instinctively, Clara held out her hand to him, and the Doctor grabbed it tightly. She squeezed back, and he calmed down almost immediately.

"Clara… I've… got you."

~oOo~ [hour 21]

"So? How is it?" Clara questioned expectantly as she helped the Doctor to take a spoon full of soup to his mouth. She was glad to feel his hands finally somewhat cool against hers.

"Edible," he muttered, eyes half-closed. He appeared very weak still, as if the simple act of being awake and sitting with his back against the headboard was too tiring for him.

"Oh, why can't you just say it? I did well! I didn't burn it or anything."

"Even  _you_  couldn't possibly burn  _soup_ ," he grumbled between gulps. Clara slapped his shoulder playfully as he finished eating silently. As she place the plate back on the bedside table, the Doctor tucked himself under the covers again.

"Feeling any better?"

He answered with a small grunt choked against pillow and remained silent for a long moment. When Clara thought he had fallen asleep once more, he murmured:

"It didn't taste that bad."

Clara laughed. "You must be really ill."

He snored loudly and his eyes were closed, but she was 99% sure that he was still wide awake.

~oOo~ [hour 28]

Clara had only left the Doctor for a moment to fill the pitcher with water, and when she came back she noticed he had moved in his sleep, pushing the covers down to his hips. Knowing she had to keep him warm, she sat near him and pulled the bed sheets up to his shoulders again, observing him: he had practically regained his usual skin colour, and his breath was pleasantly regular. She caressed his cheeks absentmindedly, running her fingertips on the very light stubble he had grown. Clara laughed: so even Time Lords needed to shave every day. The thought hit her mind that he looked incredibly attractive like that. She felt her cheeks heat considerably as she shook away that thought: she couldn't indulge in her feelings for him, it only made them stronger. Which was pointless, considered his stark remark that he wasn't her boyfriend. Her cheeks were burning and suddenly her mind was starting to feel so foggy. Did he have that effect on her? She probably was just tired.

She couldn't stop her hand from continuing to touch him, because it was almost involuntary, and when the Doctor awoke under her touch, Clara hurriedly withdrew her hand. For the first time in the last hours, he looked properly conscious and awake. He sat without any help, and Clara moved off his bed; he rubbed his eyes sleepily, then turned to face her.

"Clara. You- Wait a minute," he exclaimed, looking horrified, "why aren't you wearing gloves?" She could only look back at him without a clue of what he was talking about. "Clara,  _it spreads through touch_! I am completely sure I've warned you!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She distinctively heard her voice trail off as she spoke, her eyes blurring for a moment… then the world started spinning around her and the floor seemed so close all of a sudden…

~oOo~ [hour 1]

The Doctor blessed his Time Lord reflexes as he swiftly grabbed Clara's waist and effortlessly pulled her on the bed before she could fall. He shuddered as he felt the gentle weight of her back on his legs. A warm wave washed his body as he became aware of his palms on her and remembered her hands stroking his face a minute earlier. The sensation of her skin on his still lingered, like a burn, and he instinctively pressed one palm on his cheek, cherishing the feeling and filing it in the recesses of his mind. The same hand tentatively brushed Clara's forehead.

"Oh, Clara, Clara. What have you done? You're burning." He didn't bother with gloves, he knew that the syndrome could only be caught once in life. For this body at least, he should be fine.

The Doctor sighed in resignation, gently taking off her shoes and tucking her in his bed. Her chest rose and fell heavily beneath the sheets, her breath irregular. He pushed her hair back behind her ears, feeling a bit guilty that she was in that state because of him…the vision of her in his bed sent another shiver down his spine though, and a small smile curved his lips. He sensed a very vivid day-dream slamming down the doors of his mind, and he pinched himself to regain some composure.

The Doctor left Clara briefly, to shower and shave and to change his sweated clothes. He realized perfectly that he was still recovering and he still felt physically exhausted, so he would  _unfortunately_  have to share his bed with Clara. He put on his pyjama, but in place of his usual trousers -he didn't need many layers at night, he hardly ever felt cold and it was more comfortable that way- he took care of wearing underwear, under t-shirt and a long-sleeved shirt. He had some control on his sleep, so he would be able to wake often and take care of Clara, but he needed some rest. Of course he could move her to her bedroom, but then it would be much more tiring and uneasy for him to watch her.

~oOo~ [hour 2]

Every time he watched her sleep -which happened often, even though Clara didn't know it- the Doctor felt the urge of kissing her awake. Obviously, he always resisted. He couldn't show her his hearts, because after all he wanted the best for her. It cost him so much to admit it, but she was so much better off with Danny. He was poison to her, he knew that: he had gained proof of it that day with the Boneless; he made her like him. And Clara, bless her, couldn't see -or was determined not to see- the darkness that sneakily enveloped him in this incarnation. Besides, she didn't love him. Not in  _that_  way, at least.

He woke her with a pair of light pats on her arm and a muttered "Come on, Sleepy-head." Clara let out a sleepy sound and turned to the side, burying her face in the pillow. The Doctor sighed and lifted her head, moved the pillow against the headboard and pulled her up, pressing her back against it. "Time for your medicine, Clara. Doctor's orders." She didn't open her eyes but he could tell she was awake -sort of.

She brought the glass of water to her lips and drank hesitantly. "It's not as bad as you told me-"

"Because this is the children version. Cherry-flavoured."

"Why didn't you-" she questioned sleepily between sips.

"I don't like cherries. But I know you do."

"Thank you," she whispered, opening her eyes for a moment.

"Shut up and off to sleep, you need rest," he cut short, putting the glass back on the bedside table.

He adjusted her pillow on the mattress again and gently helped her to lay down.

"Doctor?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"Will you…stay?"

"Don't worry."

The Doctor waited for her to fall asleep, the climbed on the empty side of the bed, laying over the covers and close to the edge of the mattress, as far as he could from Clara. He tried to lie facing the wall, or the ceiling, trying to convince himself that he was alone in bed; but he could feel the warmth her body emanated, the laboured breaths she took and the small movements she made in her sleep. Finally, he resigned himself to look at her. Just this once, maybe he could get to fall asleep with Clara at his side. He couldn't resist stretching an arm and running his fingers in her hair, pushing a stray lock behind her ear. He brought the same fingers to his face and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her. His eyes drifted close and sleep enveloped him like a warm blanket as he imagined holding her gently as she slept.

~oOo~ [hour 5]

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, only to close them again in a second as he realized what he was doing. He bit down on his lower lip, cursing himself and this body so weak for Clara. In his sleep, he had unconsciously moved closer to her, protectively wrapping one arm around her, his hand holding hers tightly, fingers intertwined, and burying his face in the back of her neck. He should have known that their bodies were like positively and negatively charged atoms, with no hope of escaping their mutual attraction. He did know that. He had just wanted to pretend he was strong enough to resist her, and he had failed miserably.

It was hard to admit, but he had never slept so well in centuries. No nightmares, no waking up after mere minutes of sleep, covered in sweat and hearts pounding wildly in his chest. The simple presence of Clara made him feel at peace with the universe and with himself. However, he couldn't ignore the maddening desire her proximity was lighting up in him, the need to slip his hands under the sheets and under her dress, craving for skin-to-skin contact, the urge to kiss her exposed shoulder that was so close to his lips right now…regrettably, he shook those thoughts away and tried to get up without waking her.

~oOo~ [hour 16]

"Didn't know you could still cook." Clara whispered shakily, taking a sip of soup.

"Of course I can. I am an excellent cook," the Doctor remarked.

"Sure, sure…" she paused for a moment, concentrating on her meal as the Doctor held her shaking hand firmly to help her. "It's very good, Doctor."

"I know."

"Show-off."

"Shut up." He'll never tell her that he doesn't have the patience to cook in this life, and that he had the TARDIS prepare it for him, but he's just content with making her happy.

"Any better?" he asked when she finished.

"I'm tired."

"It's okay. You still have a fever. Sleep now." He touched her forehead and she fell asleep in a blink. He smiled. "Carer skills.”

~oOo~

Many hours later, the Doctor was in the console room, waiting for Clara. He turned to face her as she walked down the stairs.

"Hello."

"Thank you for taking care of me, Doctor."

"You did the same, I was only paying you back."

"Thank you anyway."

She smiled and he smiled back.

"Where to now?"

"Home. Please."

His smile faded, but he nodded slowly and started the engines. The TARDIS landed with a loud *tud* and the Doctor opened the doors with a snap of his fingers.

"Home it is, Miss Oswald."

"There is something I wanted to give you before I go," she stated, smiling cheekily.

"I- What is it?"

"Do you trust me, Doctor?"

"Yes," he answered, almost too quickly, "but-"

"No buts. Close your eyes."

"Clara…"

"I said.  _Close. Your. Eyes_."

He obliged silently, and for some reason his hearts started to drum wildly against his ribcage. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he felt Clara stepping closer to him and gently grab his arm. He shivered, but he stayed still, not opening his eyes.

"C-Clara? What are you-"

"Shhh." The Doctor felt her other hand press against his chest and his body stiffened. Then, suddenly, he felt Clara's body pressed against his side and her lips leaving a soft but firm kiss on his right cheek. He sucked in a breath and his eyes popped open, searching for Clara's. "Thank you, Doctor."

With that she was closing the TARDIS doors in the space of three small steps, leaving him standing there with his hand on his cheek, smiling like an idiot, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and thinking that maybe, just  _maybe_ , they should get sick more often.


End file.
